


The Scholar's Melancholy

by neevebrody



Category: Family Album (1994), Quiz Show (1994)
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:11:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles smiled. It made Lionel think of that day in Connecticut, how he'd thought Charles' smile would make even the sun envious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scholar's Melancholy

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift fic, the pairing is Lionel Thayer from Family Album and Charles Van Doren as portrayed by Ralph Fiennes in the film Quiz Show. I've included a manip of the pairing and a pic of Charles. I do realize that since the timeline puts the characters more than a decade apart, there is some suspension of belief here, but just go with it. For the purposes of the story, I've moved Lionel back to the late 1950s. So also, there are certain aspects of the story relative to that time period. Warnings: Unprotected sex, and due to the rare pairing, the story is unbetaed.

The Boys...  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/neevebrody/pic/0007gpqk)

Charlie's smile  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/neevebrody/pic/0007k8bq)

The Scholar's Melancholy  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/neevebrody/pic/0007pq9t)

Lionel Thayer knew he was a little fish in a big pond, but he didn't care.  He was living a dream, working as a pool photographer for one of the top weekly news magazines in the country, and even if he wasn't usually the first chosen for an assignment, he'd get there.  Some day his photographs would grace the cover of more than one magazine, he was sure of that.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed that Murphy had called 'gin' again and was laying out his cards.  The afternoon had found all the other photographers out on assignment or working the darkrooms.  Although jumping at every footfall, he was bored and thus the card game.  Lionel looked forlornly at his own hand and calculated the damage.

A sharp clicking in the hallway made his ears prick up, followed by a slow-building cacophony drifting into the room along with the sickly sweet odor of perfume.  Both men looked up at the same time to see a flash of bright auburn hair and a severe navy suit in the doorway before it disappeared, the sound carrying with it.  "Thayer, you'll do.  Chop, chop," called the particularly grating voice, and Lionel wasted no time scrambling to his feet.

He was a blur trying to wriggle into his jacket and grab his camera bag at the same time, hurrying as if the opportunity might evaporate as quickly as it had presented itself.

As he jogged to catch up, the realization hit him - he was going on assignment with Margaret Renard, one of the brashest, widely read weekly correspondents in the city.  Hard Maggie (not that anyone ever called her that to her face, it was a nickname coined by the news department, one that not only reflected her style of reporting, but intimated that if she'd been one of the guys, "it" would be hard all the time) had clawed her way up through the ranks of mere mortal news reporters and correspondents to get to her position, and was rumored to have left quite a trail of devastation in her wake.

At least two decades Lionel's senior, she still had the face and body of a much younger woman and some said she used it to her good advantage.  Finally meeting her stride as they wound their way through the crowded corridors, Lionel watched as people stepped out of the way and the few times he turned back, some offered him sympathetic looks.

Actually, it was his second assignment with Hard Maggie and Lionel felt that was promising.  Maggie had been known to make newbie photographers cry and one even swore never to take another picture.  He'd overheard her ranting at one of his colleagues once: "Screw the way they look, honey.  Just make me look good and we'll get along fine."  So on their first assignment together, he'd been careful to shoot her on the right angle for maximum photogenic effect.  Maybe he'd made an impression. 

They made their way across the lobby (Maggie always entered and exited through the main doors) and out onto the street.  "Miss Renard, what's our assignment?" he asked as she hailed a cab for them.

"You'll like this one, Thayer."  He opened the door of one of the three cabs that squealed to the curb and helped her inside.  She gave the address to the cabbie, then turned to Lionel.  "Interview with Charles Van Doren," she said.  "I still can't believe he agreed.  Rumor was he'd sworn off all press."

Lionel smiled.  "Well, who could resist you, Miss Renard?"   God, what a kiss-ass thing to say, but he held his smile and tried not to make puppy dog eyes at her.

She gave him a sharp look, but a wry grin slowly lifted the corner of her red-lipsticked mouth.  "Exactly."

Lionel looked out the window as they crawled through the city traffic and felt a little uneasy.  Charles Van Doren.  He felt sorry for the man and didn't blame him for shunning the press.  Who hadn't heard of the scandal?  Some people were making the contestants out to be the bad guys and Van Doren in particular because he above everyone else should have known better, his moral compass, code of ethics and all that.  Lionel believed that the contestants, Van Doren included, were only pawns - chips traded by unscrupulous producers at the behest of sleezeball bosses, who in turn, answered to untouchable superiors, the networks themselves and the corporate sponsors, and all in the name of ratings and sales.

Lionel had read about the Senate hearings and all the brouhahas surrounding the whole mess.  After all was said and done, only one thing had been accomplished on the taxpayers' dime: the reputations of a few disreputable men had been sullied, but not beyond repair, at least not enough so they'd never work again.  And then there was the total devastation and humiliation of a few good men, Charles Van Doren and his family among them.  Not that he thought what Van Doren had done wasn't wrong; it was just… how long could you continue to kick a man when he was down?

Lionel's face flushed and his heart beat a little faster as he blurted out, "Don't you think it's best just to leave the guy alone.  I mean the press have-"  He cut himself off, staring panic-stricken at Maggie.  From her expression, he was afraid she was going to stop the cab and shove him out any second.  But she just smiled.

"I like you, Thayer.  You know, you've got a good eye and you usually know when to keep your mouth shut and do your job."  She looked away and Lionel knew he'd had it.  If she didn't call for a back-up photographer as soon as they arrived, this would probably be his last assignment with Hard Maggie.  Oh God, maybe even the magazine itself.

"And, for your information," she said, staring straight ahead.  "I have no intention of piling on young Mr. Van Doren.  Quite the opposite, my dear.  I think most Americans would like to get reacquainted with their former favorite son, don't you?"  She finally turned to him and gave him a quick wink.  "Ah, we're here."

Lionel trailed after her as they climbed the steps of Van Doren's townhouse.  His face warmed as she scowled and straightened his bow tie, but he smiled and thanked her just the same.  He was beginning to wonder if her nickname was entirely accurate.  Whatever he seemed to be doing right, he had to figure out what it was so he could keep it up.  Staying on Maggie's good side was just the ticket he needed.

Van Doren finally opened the door and ushered them inside.  Lionel immediately broke out into a cold sweat.  After the perfunctory greetings and introductions, Van Doren locked eyes with Lionel and Lionel knew he remembered.

"Why, Lionel.  Yes, of course.  Good-it's good to see you again," Charles said extending his hand. 

Lionel took it, aware that Maggie was probably gaping and would give him a good dressing down later for not telling her he'd met Van Doren before.  He tried not to look her way.  "Likewise," was all he could manage.  He was thinking whether or not he should explain, when Van Doren beat him to the punch.

"Mr. Thayer and I met several months ago.  He was up at Cornwall with, um, from the magazine… oh, his name escapes me at the moment…"

"Wesley Parrish," Lionel offered.

"Oh yes, of course," Maggie said to Charles.  "That was the interview for your father's birthday party I believe and the start of a new book."

"That's right.  He's hard at work even now."  Charles smiled.  It made Lionel think of that day in Connecticut, how he'd thought Charles' smile would make even the sun envious.

The three of them retreated to the living room and Lionel sat mutely, waiting for instructions from Maggie.  At times his fingers itched to capture a particular look on Charles' face as he spoke about how he'd weathered most of the fallout from the scandal and plans for his immediate future.

Each time Charles' eyes rested on him, Lionel thought back to their previous meeting.  Parrish had known the Van Dorens for years and Lionel had felt the odd man out the entire day.  He remembered catching Charles staring then, too, and how he'd made a point to ask him questions about photography or how he liked working in New York, how Charles seemed to want to make him feel comfortable.  And, when everyone else made their opinions clear on what they thought of Hollywood and the movies, Charles and one of his aunts had been very gracious regarding his mother's work.

After the lunch and the presents, Charles had asked Lionel to go sailing with him and several other family members.  He remembered being excited that Charles would ask and had been terribly disappointed when Parrish had said they couldn't stay. 

Lionel couldn't help but wonder about this second meeting.  If there was anything providential in him and Murphy being the only two pool photogs in the office at the time.  A fifty-fifty shot that had gone his way.

Maggie was leading into a lengthy question, so he chanced another glimpse at Van Doren.  His stomach did a little flip-flop that pinked his cheeks when he found Charles staring at him.  He grinned and Lionel grinned back, more heat flushing over his entire body.

After many more questions, and the manic waxing and waning of Maggie's enthusiasm, the interview finally came to a close.  Lionel then busied himself with getting the requested shots:  Maggie and Charles chatting, Charles in various locations in the townhouse and one thoughtful head and shoulders shot.  He spun the aperture setting and checked his light meter for just the right exposure in an effort to reflect a contemplative Van Doren.  Through the viewfinder, Charles looked directly at him, giving him an innocent, vulnerable pose, complete with that dazzling, little-boy smile.  But Lionel had the distinct feeling of something completely different in Van Doren's eyes, something that stirred feelings a bit further south than Lionel's stomach.

"Are you going to take all day, Thayer?"  Maggie's voice pierced through whatever it was that hung between him and Charles and he quickly got the shot he wanted.

Maggie asked to use the phone and while Lionel was packing his things back into his camera bag, Charles walked over and stood beside him.  Lionel took a deep breath and turned to face him.

"It really is good to see you again," Charles said.  "How have you been?"

"Fine," Lionel replied.  "Keeping busy.  I've been on at least two assignments a week since your father's party."  Charles tried to help by handing Lionel items to pack.  When he handed Lionel the light meter, their hands brushed together and the only other thing Lionel could feel was the beating of his own heart.

Before either of them could say more, Maggie was back, explaining to Charles that the telephone call was to her editor to inquire about making the interview a two-part feature.  "He loved the idea, Charlie…"  (Van Doren had insisted she call him Charlie)  "…and since we have so much material-oh, only one thing.  I'd like to have a few different shots of you for the second piece.  You know, not in the same clothes, or the townhouse."

Charles looked thoughtful.  "How about up at Cornwall," he suggested and Lionel watched Maggie's face light up.  "Mother and Dad are taking a trip next week, a writing junket I believe, and I'm house-sitting."

"Oh, Charlie, that's perfect.  Only I can't make it next week," she said in a confidential tone, "got an interview with the Shah of Iran.  But Thayer here can.  We only need the photographs after all.  I could phone in any follow-up questions," she looked at him expectantly.

"Of course, that would be great," Van Doren replied.

"You can handle that, can't you Thayer?  Good," she said, not waiting for an answer.

"Perhaps, well Lionel, I don't know if you're free, but maybe you could join me for lunch tomorrow and we could go over the details?"

Lionel looked first to Maggie, who looked like she'd personally kick his ass if he said no, then to Van Doren.  "Sure.  That would, uh, yes, that'd be fine.  I look forward to it," he said, noticing Van Doren's eyes again.

Maggie handed Lionel one of her cards.  "Write your numbers down on this, sweetie," she demanded and passed it to Charles when he'd done so.  "There now, you boys take care of everything and we'll use the Cornwall shots for the second part of the interview."  She gave Lionel a stern glance and he followed her to the door.

They said goodbye and Lionel shook Charles' hand, nodding when Charles said he'd call about lunch.

~~~~

For the second day in a row, Lionel found himself rushing up the steps of Van Doren's townhouse.  Jesus, he was going to be late, he admonished himself.  He was particularly annoyed that he'd taken the extra time to go home and change.  It was only lunch after all, just lunch to discuss a photo shoot, part of his job.  He groaned inwardly, trying to convince himself that was all it was.

Charles greeted him at the door and Lionel almost forgot himself for a moment, his eyes full of Van Doren in perfectly creased khaki slacks and a navy blue, v-neck cashmere sweater.  Thinking it was much too hot for the cashmere, Lionel quickly noticed how the dark navy somehow brought out the golden tone in Charles' hair, not to mention his eyes, making them glow like embers - hot indeed.

He shucked out of his Brooks Brothers blazer and joined Charles in the small dining area.  "I hope you don't mind having lunch here," Charles said.  "I'm still avoiding restaurants and such.  Too much potential for embarrassment, I'm afraid." 

Lionel assured him it was fine.  They sat down and discussed this and that through the soup and salad course.  When Charles got up to get the sandwiches, he offered Lionel a beer.  Lionel declined, saying he had another assignment that afternoon even though it wasn't true.  But then it wasn't totally implausible that he'd get one.

He watched Charles pluck a squat, brown bottle from the refrigerator, slip the opener into his pocket and juggle the beer and the sandwiches over to the table.  Belatedly, it occurred to him that he could have helped and at the last minute, he jumped up and took his plate from Charles.

Van Doren opened his beer and took a long pull.  "I don't know what it is," he said thoughtfully, "there's just something about a good grilled sandwich and cold beer."

Lionel agreed and mentioned that if he didn't have to return to work… then he stopped himself, his cheeks burning.  Charles had been forced to give up his teaching position because of the scandal. 

"It's okay," he said softly.  "I've gotten used to it.  Really, Lionel, you don't have to walk on eggshells around me."  He took a bite of his sandwich.  His eyes were still smiling and that made Lionel feel a bit better.

Eventually, they got down to the meat of their intended conversation.  "Do you work the weekends?" Charles asked.

"No, I'm lucky.  I'm not sure just what the pecking order is around there, but we're all subject to being called in the case of a catastrophe or something."

Charles hesitated a moment before continuing.  "Good.  I was thinking… perhaps you could come up and stay the weekend?"

Lionel quickly took a sip of water so he wouldn't choke on his mouthful of sandwich.

"With Mother and Dad away," Van Doren continued, "the usual weekend visitors will have made other plans.  We might have to put up with my brother or a cousin or two, but it'd be fun."  Charles leveled his gaze on Lionel.  "We could take that sail we were denied before."  Charles' voice had a silky quality to it.  Lionel had always thought so, even when watching him on television.  Erudite and articulate, yes, but he also had a way of making the tone of his voice downright sinful.

"I'll, uh, have to check my calendar," Lionel said.  "I mean, I'll have to check with my roommate, he may have something planned."

"Oh, of course, I understand," said Charles, his face clouding just a bit.  "Handsome guy like you, no doubt you have an active social calendar."

"No, it's not that.  It's… Gus, my roommate, sometimes he get Yankees tickets or tickets to Radio City without telling me.  I'll, uhm, can I let you know by, say, Thursday?"  Jesus, he should have just come out and told Charles he didn't have a date, that he wasn't seeing anyone, but maybe Charles already suspected that or maybe he didn't care and Lionel wondered if he wasn't reading a bit more into the whole thing than was necessary.

"That will be fine," Charles said.  "I'll be attending a writer's seminar for the next few days, then going straight to Connecticut, so I'll give you the telephone number there.  I should be settled in by Friday morning.  You could just give me a call then."

Lionel smiled and they finished their lunch discussing what it was like working with Maggie Renard.

When they were done, and it was getting on toward two o'clock, Charles walked him to the door and handed Lionel the slip of paper on which he'd written the Cornwall telephone number.  As Lionel reached for it, Charles let his hand linger just long enough to be interesting.  "I really hope you'll be able to make it, Lionel."  His voice was thick and low and the sun slanting through the ten-foot windows behind him cast Van Doren in a flattering light.

Lionel felt his heart pound as Charles took a step forward and rested a hand on Lionel's shoulder.  The other he stuffed in his pocket and Lionel thought it was such a shy gesture.  Charles' eyes were almost golden in the light as Lionel stared into them.  "You're welcome to stay for a bit," said Charles, leaning closer, his smile gone in favor of a more serious look.

It was like a huge elastic band was squeezing Lionel's chest, cutting him off from the deep breath he needed to take.  Then he heard his own voice stammering out the afternoon assignment excuse, wishing now he'd never mentioned it.

Charles' forehead brushed his and rested there.  Lionel held his breath.  Charles' hand was still on his shoulder.  He flashed that big, boyish grin, but didn't move, came no closer.  Lionel's pulse crashed in his ears along with Charles' words: "I'll look forward to this weekend, then."  But before Charles could pull away, Lionel, in an act of abject impulsivity, or idiocy - he wasn't exactly sure which - quickly leaned in and pressed his lips to Charles'.

Soft and easy, it was a 'feeling out' type of kiss, but Charles returned it, and that sent a shudder straight down to Lionel's brown leather oxford-covered toes.  It was good kissing Charles, but Lionel made himself stop before things could get out of hand.  He smiled and told Charles he'd call him.  Charles smiled back, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he stepped aside so Lionel could leave.

~~~~

The next few days were a flurry of activity.  Maggie had taken him on another assignment in town and had reminded him of the importance of getting those extra photos of Van Doren.  When he explained that he was thinking of spending the weekend in Cornwall, she'd given him a wide smile, a clap on the back and a hearty "good boy!"

In his spare time, Lionel thought about Charles.  From the first time seeing him on Twenty-One, he thought Van Doren was an intriguing personality and there was no way Lionel could deny his attraction after actually meeting him.  He just never imagined the opportunity would arise to come in contact with him again, or that what seemed to be an interest on Charles' part was really an… _interest_.  Yet there he was, not only meeting him again, but contemplating spending the weekend with him.  Lionel was excited by the possibilities, but figured it would likely be as Charles said, his brother or other family members would be there.  It did seem the perfect weekend gathering place and he could certainly understand people wanting to be there.

At night, though, Lionel thought about John.  Getting into bed alone night after night, he always thought about John.  He'd been so much a part of Lionel's life and every time Lionel was sure he'd worked through his feelings, something would spark a memory, make him wonder what John would think of him now, the choices he'd made and how different things would be if they were still together.  But thinking of all that was a fool's errand and Lionel knew it.  Just as he'd moved on with his career, he knew he'd have to eventually do the same with his life.

And he hadn't been totally alone, there'd been a few frivolous attractions along the way, although Lionel wasn't really proud of the one-night stands.  He hated the way he felt afterward, but in this huge city, it was too easy to be anonymous, too easy to disappear.  Still, he'd never given up hope of one day finding the one true thing that could fill the void.

It was during an assignment at the International Automobile Show that Lionel realized it was Thursday already and he needed to call Charles and let him know something about the weekend.  His stomach and his brain had battled it out over the past two days - first one coming out on top then the other.  He'd finally given in and called Anne to ask her advice.  It may have been a bit corny, but he and Anne had a very strong bond and he'd always been more comfortable talking to her than anyone else.  She wasn't much help: follow your heart, do what you think is best were things he'd already thought of, but it was nice to know he had her support whatever he decided.  That meant a lot to him.

Gus hadn't made any plans.  In fact, he'd mentioned something about visiting his brother.  There really was nothing to stop him.  Finally deciding that he could at least have a great weekend away from the heat and noise of the city, Lionel made a mental note to call first thing the next morning and accept Van Doren's invitation.  Then he was off to ogle the new Chrysler models.

~~~~

Lionel tried mightily to keep his stomach in one place as the taxi meandered up the long drive to the large country house.  It was beautiful.  The trees lining the drive filtered the sun and littered the ground with a soft patter of light along the way.  Closer to the house, there were larger patches of sunlight here and there with most of the main house comfortably ensconced in the shade.  Lionel paid the cabbie and swallowed hard as he turned and saw Charles wading across the verdant carpet of lawn to greet him.

It was well after six and Lionel could smell the barbeque.  "We're having steaks," Charles said.  "Hope that's okay."  Before Lionel could ask, Charles added, "My brother and a friend are here, but just for the night.  They'll be off in the morning."

He set his bag down in the room he'd occupy for the next few days.  Obviously one of the boys' old room, it was decorated with a nautical motif - bold navy blue walls, crisp white trim and yellow accents.  The room held a hint of old cologne and disuse.  He walked to the window and pushed it open.  The breeze, along with the beautiful view of the lake, hit him full in the face and a growing anticipation began to tangle with the knots of unease.

Dinner was fantastic.  The steaks were grilled to perfection and the beer was ice cold.  Charles had told his brother of the interview with the magazine and of Lionel's explicit instructions to get more pictures.  Of course, Lionel had met John, the other Van Doren son, at the same time he'd first met Charles.  He figured there were always guests here, invited and uninvited, and no one really thought it strange that he was staying the weekend.

They were all sitting around the table outdoors, listening to Lionel explain for the third time, that he had no way of confirming the validity of the rumors about Maggie, as darkness crept up on them.  Homemade lanterns hanging in the trees were lit along with the candles on the table.  The breeze coming off the lake was still warm and as the insects and frogs started up their chorus, Lionel finished his third beer.  He leaned back in his chair and wondered where all that apprehension he'd stepped out of the cab with had gone.  
   
Blinking through the alcohol haze and the veiled glow of the candlelight, he looked over at Charles, who was engaged in an animated conversation with Matt, John's friend, about something related to literature.  The discussion made Lionel wish he'd paid more attention in his English Lit classes.  Even though the low light softened Charles' features, blurring the chiseled lines and angles of his face, Lionel could still see a little of that sadness he'd noticed while developing the prints from the first session.  Such a contrast from the man he'd found so engaging at that very table all those months ago.  That man, he thought, had hidden his inner turmoil well.  Charles glanced over and gave him a quick smile.

After they'd cleared the table and restored some kind of order to the kitchen, Charles mentioned showing Lionel the boathouse.  They walked through the silent grass down to the dock.  It swayed and creaked beneath Lionel as he stood at the edge listening to the tree frogs and watching the moon's reflection ripple across the silky surface of the water to disappear under his feet.  He breathed deeply then started at the hand on his back.

Turning to face Charles, he meant to say something about the lake and the moon and the frogs.  Instead, he met Charles' lips as Charles leaned into him - a kiss that was the perfect complement to the evening - soft and unhurried, but filled with a sense of quiet urgency, of wanting and the promise of things to come.  A kiss that began to build and change as Lionel had the sense they were moving, backward, forward, sideways, then still, his palms warm on Charles' back, the rough surface of the boathouse wall scraping his knuckles.  Charles cradled Lionel's face as their bodies slowly started to move together, cheered on by the frogs, the insects and the lapping of the water along the pierstakes.  Then, there was another sound - the vulgar intrusion of the human voice - John calling them back to the house.  The spell was broken as it seemed poker was now the order of the evening.

~~~~

When Lionel awoke Saturday morning, he wasn't sure how or when exactly he'd gotten into bed.  He struggled to open his eyes, blinking away the veil that made it seem his head was encased in glass, and with that, a rhythmic, dull thudding - his pulse or knocking?

The door opened and Charles stuck his head inside, smiling, saying something about breakfast and some kind of plans as far as Lionel could tell, and then he was gone.  Vowing to watch his alcohol intake for the remainder of the weekend, Lionel dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

He followed the aroma of smoked bacon and fresh percolating coffee to the kitchen, but there was something besides breakfast beyond the faded yellow swinging door.

 _"…in Mom and Dad's house?  Really, Charles, I thought that's what you kept the townhouse for."_

 _"That's none of your concern, and he's-it's not like that."_

 _"Bullshit.  I've got eyes.  Look, all I'm saying is be careful.  I mean what do you know about this…"_

Lionel pushed the door open and tried to look as if he hadn't overheard, smiling and saying good morning.  He met Charles' gaze and quickly looked away, following John's direction to find a cup.

He poured coffee while they said their goodbyes and then he heard John leave the kitchen.  Lionel stiffened at Charles' hand on his shoulder.

"John's an ass, don't mind him.  He's just a little over protective and maybe a bit concerned about something he doesn't understand."

"He's right, you know," Lionel replied, turning to Charles.  "You don't know anything about me.  Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all."

"I refuse to believe that," Charles said.  "And I don't really think you believe it either." 

He leaned in and kissed the spot just behind Lionel's left ear and any other arguments he might have had dissolved as Charles continued down his neck.

~~~~

The two of them had gotten an early start after breakfast.  The day had been a good one.  Charles drove them into Cornwall where they walked around town, through the vast number of antique shops.  Browsing had been fun and in one obscure little shop, Lionel found a Lewis Style Daguerreotype box camera.  He held it lovingly and tried to explain to Charles the process of wet plate photography.  According to the shop's owner, the camera had once belonged to the Matthew Brady Studio and had been used by his photographers during the last years of the Civil War.  It was beautiful.  Lionel fondled the polished wood, which had softened to a rich patina.  The brasswork was scratched but shiny; someone had taken great care with it.  Reluctantly, Lionel handed the gem back to the owner, the price tag making any further discussion impossible.

They had lunch in Ellsworth, a small town right outside West Cornwall.  There, Lionel was able to get a few shots of Charles for the magazine.  After lunch, they came across an old Dutch Reformation church and Lionel spent the better part of an hour photographing the weathered lapboard siding, paying painstaking attention to the peculiar patterns of the crackled and peeling paint.  He was fascinated by the rust that adhered to the padlock and hasp on the front door, rust that said no one had entered the building in a long while.  He took several perspective shots, shooting up at the simple spire while lying at the foot of the stone steps in front of the church.  He attempted to explain to Charles how he framed a shot in his head and how sometimes when he developed the film, he found that same vision or, more often, the surprise of something even better.

On the drive home, they talked of taking that sail.  Lionel watched Charles as he drove, watched his hair dance in wisps around his forehead, blown from the open windows, noted how his expression would change from smiling and talkative to quiet and far away, like he was lost in a deep chasm of thought - a place where Lionel couldn't follow him.

~~~~

The boathouse was almost as spacious as some of the studio apartments Lionel had investigated upon first moving to the city.  More like a guest bungalow, it had a small kitchenette and a living area furnished with an L-shaped sofa, which surrounded a large coffee table fashioned from an old ship's cable pulley, still wrapped with ancient-looking, discolored rope.  Paperback books and literary magazines littered the glass top.  Lionel looked around.  On the other side of a half-wall separating the kitchenette was a small daybed and an armoire.

Charles had already changed in the house and was rifling through the armoire in search of a pair of swimming trunks for Lionel.  "Here we are," Charles said, walking toward him holding a pair of tan trunks with navy blue stripes down the sides.  "These are John's, but they should fit you better than a pair of mine."

Lionel took the trunks and stared into Charles' ever-changing eyes.

"Your hips are a bit smaller, like his," Charles said, slipping his arms around Lionel's waist, flashing one of his dizzying smiles and looking like a little boy who'd just repeated a dirty joke.

"Is there somewhere I can change?" Lionel asked.

"This is the changing room, Lionel."  Charles began to fumble with the buttons of Lionel's shirt.  "I'd be glad to help if you like."  His voice was low and tight and it set the base of Lionel's spine tingling.  He just nodded as Charles finished the buttons and in one sweep, slid the shirt over his shoulders.

This time, Lionel pulled Charles close, pressing their bare chests together.  Charles was warm and smelled of expensive cologne and a hint of sweat.  The kiss wasn't slow or careful, mouths opening and closing, battling for dominance, tongues flicking out in invitation, lips bitten, intentionally and unintentionally.  Their breathing, loud and harsh, echoed in the quiet room as they explored and mapped each other's skin - neck, shoulders, nipples - and Lionel moaned shamelessly as Charles worked his pants undone and snaked a hand beneath his underwear, his mouth busy at Lionel's neck. 

Everything happened so fast, the warmth and skill of Charles' hand brought him off quickly, shuddering and jerking helplessly into the man who held and kissed him through it.  But before Lionel could succumb all the way, he tugged at Charles' trunks, pulling them down with him as he sank to his knees.

They ended up on the sofa with Lionel lazing between Charles' legs, his cheek resting on Charles' stomach, waiting for his heart rate and breathing to return to normal, aided by Charles gently combing his slender fingers through Lionel's hair.  They never got to their sail.

By the time Lionel opened his eyes, the late afternoon sun had begun to stretch long, warm fingers across the interior of the boathouse.  He looked up at Charles, who resembled some religious icon - a halo of sunlight enflaming his hair and turning his eyes to molten green gold.  Instead of a smile, Lionel faced an aching, needy look that tugged at him, stripped his flesh, leaving him feeling more than naked.  It was so intense that Lionel tried to look away, but the strength of Charles' hand stopped him.  He tipped Lionel's chin up and in the space of lingering a few moments in each others' eyes, they had an entire conversation, a wordless understanding that needed only Charles' quiet smile for punctuation.

"Do you feel like company for dinner?" he finally asked.

"Whatever you like," Lionel answered, trying not to let disappointment show in his voice.

"Just a few friends.  Maybe get some good crab out of the deal."

Lionel tried to smile back, but couldn't help wondering if maybe he'd read that unspoken conversation wrong after all.  "Sure, that'd be great," he found himself saying.

When they'd returning to the house, he heard Charles on the phone, making a list with whoever was on the other end.  Apparently, he and Charles were going to have to go into town for a few things.  Throughout the trip, and even after the guests had arrived, Lionel felt strangely uncomfortable.  Fortunately, once they'd started boiling the crabs and cracking open the cold beer, that feeling began to fade and he actually managed to have fun.

Charles obviously had a few good friends who hadn't abandoned him and soon Lionel noticed that none of them were ignoring _him_ either, nor were they eyeing him in judgment.  Lucy Herren, a pretty, petite brunette, who was one of Charles' colleagues at Columbia, had a new-found interest in photography and Lionel found himself talking to her as if they'd known each other for ages.

During the rest of dinner and the enjoyable wake of the evening, he found his disappointment waning, replaced by the magic of watching Charles.  Watching him laugh and talk and the way everyone still hung on his every word, and how for a few hours in the warm glow of the late summer night, there was none of that lonely sadness in Charles' eyes.  Lionel discovered he was just as mesmerized as the others.

At one point, during a lengthy dissertation on the Nineteenth Century American novelists, Lionel carried some of the dishes into the house and used the trip to fetch more beer.  He was alone in the kitchen when Lucy stepped through the door.

"Here, let me help," she said, extending her hand for the bucket Lionel had loaded with more ice and beer.

"That's okay, I've got it," he said.  "But you can get the door for me."

Her smile was filled with perfect teeth and Lionel tried to mentally calculate how many drinks she'd had, when her hand slid up to cup his cheek.  She spoke before he could protest or back away.  "You know, this is the first time I've seen Charlie really smile since leaving Columbia."  Her face seemed to change in an instant, from playful to infinitely sober.  "I'm glad I met you, Lionel Thayer.  I'm glad Charlie met you--hope you stick around."  And with that, she raised herself up on tiptoes and kissed the spot where her hand had been, their eyes meeting for one brief, meaningful moment before the door swung open and her face returned to the girlish and slightly inebriated countenance she'd walked in with.  "Here, Lionel," she said, taking the bucket.  "I'll take this.  You can bring more bottles."

Then she turned away.  "See you outside," she said to Charles as she passed.

He turned slowly in Lionel's direction, that adorable, vulnerable shyness written on his face in a vermillion flush, or maybe that was just the beer.  Lionel's chest tightened as Charles walked toward him, slid his arms around his waist and kissed him.  Not a tender kiss, but one full of desire and desperation.  Lionel cradled Charles' face and gave back just as much need, just as much desire, falling into the spell that was Charles Van Doren.  He struggled with the need to tear at Charles' clothes.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way - John, surely, but even this was different somehow.

Charles pulled away, leaving Lionel breathless.  "See, Lionel, not everyone thinks like my brother.  Frankly, I agree with Lucy.  I'd like you to stick around as well."

Lionel wasn't sure just what to say.  Instead of spending the evening together, just the two of them, Charles had thought it important to show him that not everyone behaved as Neanderthals and there were people who would accept him for who he was and nothing more.

"You know," Charles said in a confidential tone, "this lot is quite drunk.  They'll all have to stay the night…"

Lionel nodded, trying again to fight off disappointment.

"Unless, of course, we get cabs for them."  Charles' boyish grin did little to hide the spark in his eyes.  "You'll find a number there beside the phone," Charles pointed, "and I think we'd better have two, don't you?"

***

Having said their goodbyes, Lionel watched most of the guests pile into the two cabs.  Lucy and Donald, another of Charles' former colleagues, insisted they were sober enough to drive and after much _ad hoc_ testing by Charles, they were allowed to take the cars.  He and Charles stood there waving as they drove off.

It took another thirty minutes to clear the outside table and leave a huge mess in the kitchen.  They both agreed Sunday morning would be the best time to tackle it.  Lionel took Charles' hand as they climbed the stairs together.

The hot water from the shower served to calm Lionel a bit, while at the same time pulling him back from the clutches of too much beer.  He sighed as Charles kneaded his shoulders, spreading slick lather across his skin, down his back and around to his chest.  Charles' mouth at the nape of his neck stirred him as fingers floated over his nipples, down his sides to his hips, pulling him closer against the wet slide of Charles' skin and the hardness of his erection.

Lionel reached behind him to pull Charles closer, turning into his waiting mouth, where his moans were swallowed up as Charles closed soapy fingers around Lionel's cock, stroking it's length slowly.  Lionel held on, anchored by the kiss as Charles pulled him apart once again.

***

The sheets were cool and welcome after the heat from the shower.  Charles lay beside Lionel and seemed willing to let him take his time to explore.  So far, everything had happened too fast and now it was Lionel's turn to take the lead, to drag choked moans from deep within Charles, to watch Charles' face change from desire to need to guileless awe and back again as Lionel wandered over his body - weaving a sensorial seduction that left Charles squirming beneath him, hands twined in Lionel's hair and making vain attempts to steer Lionel to the center of all that want.

But Lionel made him wait, choosing instead to drink in the taste of Charles' skin, salty and sharp, to feel the outline of taut muscles under his tongue and fingertips, to inhale the spicy scent of Charles' arousal, all woven together in one long, sensuous tapestry that covered Charles and made Lionel hard again.

"Christ, Lionel."  The edges of Charles' voice were frayed and raw as he pulled Lionel up, their mouths crashing together inelegantly; the hiss of their breaths filled the room, followed by half-realized moans, aborted before they could draw themselves out as each man ground into the other.  Lionel shivered from head to toe at the hot slide of their cocks together, and Charles caught him completely by surprise as he wrapped a leg around him and rolled them.  Flat on his back, Lionel stared up into those golden-green eyes.  Eyes that for just a brief moment weren't Charles' eyes at all.  They were darkened and deviant, inhuman and consuming and Lionel's breath caught in his chest as tiny shards of desire pricked his skin.

But then he blinked and they were Charles's eyes again, the outer rim of the chameleon irises softened by the same emptiness he'd seen half a dozen times in the past few days.

"Lionel, I-"  Charles paused.

Lionel pulled him closer.  "What… tell me."

But his only answer was Charles turning him over, Charles' hot mouth across his shoulders and along his spine, Charles' tongue playing at the small of his back while tender hands spread his cheeks… then, nothing.  Lionel held his breath and waited.

He cried out at the first touch of Charles' tongue.  Instinctively, he flinched to pull away, but as the warmth spread over his opening and worked its way inside him, he began to relax.  Charles was making it impossible to resist and after a few more moments, Lionel was pushing back, wanting more.  Charles gave it to him.

The hard tip of a finger circled his hole and Lionel sucked in his breath as it slipped inside.  He drew his leg up, making room, an invitation for Charles to continue.  His fists twisted in the linens, Lionel groaned as Charles slid another finger in, turning them and working slowly in and out until Lionel cried out again.

Charles' lips ticked his ear.  "Good?"

Lionel just nodded - the weight of Charles' body pressing against him helped to calm his trembling.

"Lionel, can I--Jesus, I want inside you… feel your tight ass around me… do you--"

Charles's words were fire in his belly.  Lionel wanted it too.  Oh God, he wanted it, but there'd been no one since John and he knew now wasn't the time to think of that and he knew it was too soon and he should say no but he hadn't felt this way since… no one else since John had made him feel like this, alive and wanted and…

"Please, Lionel, let me fuck you."  Charles' whisper was like ripping paper and it startled Lionel.  "I'll make it so good for you."  And he emphasized his words by twisting his fingers again.

Lionel believed him.  He had no resistance left.  "Yes," he groaned into the pillow, "yes… yes… yes."

Charles gently removed his fingers and Lionel felt the weight on the bed lighten.  "Turn over," Charles said when he returned.  "I want to see you."

Lionel did so and watched Charles coat his rigid cock with something that looked like mineral oil, rubbing the excess around Lionel's opening.  He then leaned down and Lionel met him in a kiss, pulling his legs back so Charles could enter him, holding his breath as the head pressed in.  He gasped at the first breach and then tried to breathe normally as Charles moved past the tight ring.  This was the most uncomfortable, but it was offset by the promise of having Charles inside him, filling him.  He looked into Charles' eyes and nodded.  It way okay, just please, inside him… now.

Lionel shifted his hips and practically drew Charles the rest of the way in.  Yes, yes, that was what he wanted.  He smiled at Charles and groaned when he pulled back and snapped his hips forward.  He held fast while Charles stuttered then found an easy rhythm and suddenly Lionel was hyper-aware of everything around him.  The warm, muggy air blowing across from the open window, the dampness of Charles' skin and the tiny beads of sweat at his temples, the concentration shadowed in the lines of his face as his thrusts became more urgent.  The sound of the frogs and insects outside mingled with their heavy breathing and all of it accentuated the fact that Lionel was alive, hadn't felt so alive in years and how Charles was keeping his word… he was making it good, so good.

Lionel slipped his hand between them and took hold of his cock, stroking it lazily at first, but when Charles increased his pace, so did Lionel.

"Jesus, you're beautiful, Lionel." 

He felt his face burn.

Charles' eyes flicked to Lionel's hand, then back to Lionel.  "Are you close?"

He nodded and continued to fist himself.

"So beautiful..." Charles continued.  "You feel so good… so tight, so hot… Christ, I've… never…"  He pressed Lionel's legs back further and changed the angle of his hips, picking up the pace.

Lionel's eyes widened.  Charles' short, driving thrusts were filling him up, hitting just the right spot, multiplying the pressure in his groin.  He pressed his head back into the mattress and shortened his own strokes, hot and fast, his breath stuttering out in sharp little gasps, along with the words, _fuck_ and _Charles_.

With his eyes closed, Charles' low, rumble seemed to surround Lionel.  "That's it… I want to see you come, Lionel… God, look at you…"  Charles snapped forward harder and faster.  "Let me see you… let go, Lionel… come for me…"

The hard ball of pressure at the base of his spine broke apart and rushed out over his body in waves, leaving the light behind his eyes first a blinding white, then dark as night as he clenched around Charles' cock, his own release spilling hot onto his stomach.

Charles' frayed and broken panting filled the air, right before the strangled moans and the stilling of his hips. Charles, buried inside him, was coming too.

Lionel opened his eyes to the grimace of pleasure on Charles' face, sweat dripping from a few strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead.  Charles was bent over him, braced on trembling arms.  Lionel reached up and brushed the hair away from his face and pulled Charles down to him, their kisses slow and sweet as they helped each other down from the dizzying heights of a real orgasm, something Lionel hadn't felt in what seemed like for fucking ever.

~~~~

Lionel woke with a start and sat up in bed.  A wide swath of moonlight from the window divided the room.  Looking around, he found he was alone.  The luminous hands of the bedside clock told him it was after three.  He waited for a moment, thinking Charles might be in the bathroom.  He listened, but there was nothing other than the nightnoises and the faraway sound of water… dull and indistinct, but immediately recognizable.

He got out of bed and went to the window.  The view took him straight down the back lawn and out onto the dock.  Someone stood at the end of it looking out over the water.  Lionel took a deep breath and tried to imagine how alone and lost Charles must feel.  He had a notion to go down and join him, but changed his mind, thinking he might be an intrusion.

Lionel was still awake when Charles slipped back into bed.  He lay there quietly as Charles spooned up behind him, curled an arm around him and pressed lips to his shoulder.  "Thank you," he whispered.

Lionel smiled to himself and turned over to face Charles, the first man since John he'd allowed to enter him.  He expected to see that cherubic grin and sparkling eyes, but there was only a weak smile and a profound look of tortured need that gathered Lionel's insides into a big knot.  He slid his thumb over Charles' bottom lip.  "What's wrong?  Can't you sleep?"

Charles raked his hand through Lionel's hair.  "Just a bit restless, I suppose.  Lionel, I…"

"It was wonderful," Lionel interrupted, pulling Charles closer.  "It was the… the first time since... well, in a long time."

That brought a bit more of a smile to Charles' face.  "Well, I'm glad to have been the one," he said.

Lionel hesitated, unsure whether to say what had been gnawing at him for days.  "But, Charles… you don't seem… happy.  Has the weekend been disappointing?"

"Good Lord, Lionel.  No.  What on earth would make you say that?"

He just shrugged and stroked his fingers across Charles' damp chest. 

"I'm not sure I can adequately explain it, but believe me, it has absolutely nothing to do with you.  I was ecstatic that you accepted my invitation and not just… not just for… this," he said, gliding his fingertips over Lionel's naked hip.  "I've enjoyed very much being with you, talking to you… it's just… tomorrow you'll be gone and I guess I was just preparing myself."

"There'll be other weekends," Lionel said hopefully.  "And you still have your place in town.  It's not like we can't see each other… is it?"

Charles pressed in to kiss him again, letting his lips linger.  "You're right, of course.  It just won't be like this, like the first time, full of such wonder and anticipation."

Lionel studied him, trying to work out if there was some other meaning in those words.  "That's true," he said quietly, "but don't you think… well, don't you think it can get even better?"

Charles smiled and it was Lionel who suddenly felt needy.  He pulled Charles to him in a kiss he hoped showed that need.  Sliding a hand between them, he was pleased to find Charles already half hard.

~~~~

Lionel practically fell into his apartment, and probably would have if his key hadn't gotten stuck in the lock.  Pulling it free and leaning against the closed door, he blew out a long breath, he'd finally survived another week.  In the small foyer, he tossed his keys onto the hallway table, dropped his camera bag on the small chair beside it and ambled into the kitchen.

Work had been constant that week - more assignments and developing and outlining crops for the Van Doren feature.  He opened the refrigerator and searched until he found a beer.  A week ago, he'd been on his way to Cornwall.  He smiled at the memory as he opened the bottle and took a sip.  He thought about Wednesday evening, the only spare time he'd had all week, spent with Charles in the city.  It had been every bit as good as last weekend, maybe even better.

He stepped over to the stove and lifted a pot lid.  The spaghetti sauce Gus had started for dinner sure smelled good.  He headed toward his room, thinking he might get a quick shower, when Gus called to him.  There'd been a package delivered by messenger and he'd put it on Lionel's desk.

The package was wrapped in regular brown packing paper and the label said: _LePont Antiques, Cornwall, Connecticut_.  Lionel set down his beer; his fingers trembled just a little as he tore the paper and opened the heavy cardboard box.  He had to remind himself to breathe as the mellow glow of the cherry wood greeted him.  Lionel lifted the camera from the packing as if it were a new life.  Standing there caressing the smooth wooden casing, he knew he couldn't accept it, would have to give it back.  It was too much.  Still, his heart raced wildly.  To Lionel, this meant something… but did it mean the same to Charles?

He lifted the camera and inhaled the pungent scent inherent with old brass and the sweetness of the rubbing wax.  He thought for a moment what John would think of Charles, if he would approve.  But then he pushed that thought away.  John was gone.  He'd want Lionel to be happy, would know that he'd find someone else eventually.  Was Charles that someone else? 

Lionel knew what he wanted in a relationship, but putting himself out there meant he could be hurt again, and he wasn't sure it was worth it.  Lionel thought he'd like to try with Charles, but didn't know if even he could overcome Charles' profound sadness, his defeat.  Because, he could love Charles… he just wasn't sure he wanted to.

He set the gift on the desk and recalled what Anne had told him the night before.  He'd called her to report on his weekend and couldn't help mentioning how gloomy Charles seemed.  Anne had reminded him that Charles had been through a life altering experience, disgraced in front of the entire country and made the main scapegoat in a scandal that no one would even care about in another year.

 _Think about it, Lionel… you could be the one positive thing in his life right now…_   Anne's words brought back the image of that Sunday afternoon spent in bed, the way they hadn't been able to get enough of one another, the lazy but intense sex and the cuddling afterward.  Lionel then thought of the afternoon he first met Charles, the first time he'd ever been exposed to that dazzling smile and those dancing eyes.

The one positive thing.  If he could mine that smile from Charles, he decided, it would be worth it.  At least, he was willing to try.


End file.
